


Le Hibou et Le Colibri

by Arinus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Crush, First Love, Fluff and Humor, Occlumency, One Shot, Romance, Secret Crush, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21690895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arinus/pseuds/Arinus
Summary: Fluffy one-shot based on Calista Snape series. Original Female Character (Calista Snape), and Original Male Character (Gerald Boot).This recounts, from Gerald's point of view, the exact moment that he realised he had feelings for Calista.“I’m not fussing!” My voice came out higher than I intended, and I winced, lowering it. “And I assure you, my interest in attending the Dueling Club tonight is purely academic —”“Academic?” Rob cut in, shrewdly, “So she’s a Ravenclaw, then?”“I refuse to continue this conversation.”“Oh, shite. It’s Gwen, isn’t it? She finally wore you down, didn’t she?”I rolled my eyes, slipping my wand into my pocket and giving my glasses one last little shove into place.“I’m late to meet some friends at the library; I’ll meet you down in the Great Hall in a few minutes.”
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	Le Hibou et Le Colibri

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something again, something that would get me feeling like I can be back in these characters' minds, telling their stories, and I decided to warm up with a fluffy one-shot, from a scene I've always wanted to write the other side of.

It's funny how there are some things you notice immediately; a siren, a scream. Love, I was certain, although I had not yet had cause to test that theory personally.

My roommate, Rob, was typically one of those things, and that is the basis upon which I had formed the opinion that he was no longer in our dorm room, and thus there were no witnesses to see me frowning at my reflection in the face of an ornate grandfather clock.

My glasses were crooked, and my robes were a touch too short, though I was certain I'd hardly grown at all since fourth year, let alone since last summer when I'd purchased them. I huffed a small breath of frustration out, tugging the wire frames of my glasses back into place, and silently convincing myself I was only worried about making a presentable impression in front of my professors.

"Who is she, anyway, Gerry?" Rob's familiar voice boomed over my shoulder, ricocheting off the glass of the clock and directly into my ears; I know I jumped, and that made me testy.

"What are you on about?" I snapped, even though Rob and I usually got on fairly well, "And shouldn't you be heading down to the Dueling Club?"

"So should you," Rob smirked, knowingly. "And instead you're fussing over your hair like a girl. So I'll ask you again, who _is_ the girl?"

"I'm not fussing!" My voice came out higher than I intended, and I winced, lowering it. "And I assure you, my interest in attending the Dueling Club tonight is purely academic —"

"Academic?" Rob cut in, shrewdly, "So she's a Ravenclaw, then?"

"I refuse to continue this conversation."

"Oh, shite. It's Gwen, isn't it? She finally wore you down, didn't she?"

I rolled my eyes, slipping my wand into my pocket and giving my glasses one last little shove into place.

"I'm late to meet some friends at the library; I'll meet you down in the Great Hall in a few minutes."

I ignored Rob's questioning behind me, and occupied myself during the walk to the library by inwardly scoffing at his suggestion. Nevermind that I hadn't been fussing or primping or anything of the sort, but to think that if I had, it would have been for Gwen Pierce? It had taken months in our fifth year to get her to stop 'accidentally' dropping her books whenever I passed her in the corridor; when I'd finally asked her, in point-blank exasperation, if she was doing it intentionally, she'd admitted that she liked to smell my hair when I leaned over to help her pick them up.

It had taken a few weeks after that conversation to convince her that, although I valued her friendship and admired her academic prowess, I would never hold romantic intentions towards her, and that sentiment was as true today as it had been, back then; perhaps even more so, now that I had begun to understand the things I found attractive in girls. Things like intelligence and academic dedication, of course, but there were other qualities I knew I liked. Confidence was one; Dark hair, another. It was undoubtedly shallow and probably rooted in my strange childhood obsession with Rowena Ravenclaw, but whenever I imagined myself kissing a girl, brushing her hair aside or tangling it through my fingers, I could practically see and feel it, dark and soft and silky, running like spilled ink along the skin on the back of my hand.

As I slipped into the library and headed for the spot I knew my friends would be waiting, for a moment that visual was so vivid that I swore I could _smell_ the mystery girl's hair, a muted, new-earth sort of fragrance that smelled like beginnings and fresh pages and, inexplicably, fluxweed; and then, someone called my name, and I snapped to attention, feeling my face grow warm, as if she could see — could _smell_ — the same thing I did.

"Hi, Calista." I avoided her gaze while I hastily pushed those ruminations to the back of mind, "Hi Penny, hi Percy."

"Hi, Gerry," Amelia Slater cut in loudly, evidently aggrieved that I'd saved her for last, "It's nice to see you, too."

 _I don't recall saying it to you, in the first place_ , I thought, a bit sardonically, but I'd never say it; I didn't mean, it, really. Amelia was blunt and boisterous and often more than a little crass, but she was undeniably kind-hearted, despite her best efforts on occasion to appear otherwise. It was no wonder that she and Calista were best friends; they both possessed kindness and gentleness in spades, and they both possessed an inexplicable proclivity to threaten to hex you for pointing it out.

"Amelia," I acknowledged, evenly, before asking her if she had completed her Arithmancy homework.

That, predictably, earned me a glare and an epithet. I pretended to be abashedly ducking both when I allowed my gaze to slide back to her best friend.

Calista Snape was the very image of a Prefect; robes fitted and perfectly pressed, shiny black hair cascading over shoulders that appeared deceptively delicate, given how often I'd seen her cradling armfuls of absurdly thick books in this very same room, and an alert, if perfectly inscrutable expression. I wondered if they'd make her Head Girl next year; they could hardly choose anyone better suited.

I caught her eye, as Amelia wrapped up her half-hearted tirade and we all set out from the library.

"How are you doing, Calista?" I murmured, quietly, knowing she'd understand why I was asking. When her lips flickered from that seemingly immovable expression into a fleeting smile, I felt my own heart leap in solidarity. I had been worried about her since last night, when she'd revealed that her hesitations in going to the Dueling Club had to do with her mother's abuse.

"I'm fine," she assured me, but I had long since noticed that she nearly always responded that way, whether it was true or not.

"I'm…" I glanced around. Percy Weasley and Penny Clearwater were only two paces ahead, arguing over a chess match earlier in the day which Percy had evidently lost; Amelia was behind them, mimicking their facial expressions and simultaneously trying to catch Calista's eye, undoubtedly in the hopes that they could mock Percy and Penny together.

"I'm glad to hear it," I told Calista, even though what I'd wanted to say was something entirely different. _It's perfectly understandable if you're not_ , perhaps, or _I'm here if you want to talk._ I knew how lonely the kinds of things she'd gone through could feel.

I watched her, surreptitiously, as our little procession joined the growing throng outside the Great Hall. I was concerned, and I looked for any of the usual signs that she was hurting: the hunched shoulders, the downturned lips, the tense set of her jaw. None of them were immediately apparent, but —

I saw fingers, first, coming to rest on the shoulder of her robes, and when my eyes followed them up a black-clad arm into the face of my Potions professor — and coincidentally, Calista's father — I hastily looked away, in the interest of allowing them their privacy.

I thought her father asked her a question, though I didn't hear what it was. I caught the motion of her shaking her head out of the corner of my eye, and then I noticed Rob Davies on my other side. When had he arrived, let alone stood right beside me?

"Gwen's over there," Rob smirked, "Better hurry, though; I think I see Artie King chatting her up…"

"Oh, come off it —" I started, and mercifully then, Calista came unexpectedly and unintentionally to my rescue.

"Your end?" I heard her say, "Then you're teaching us instead of Lockhart?"

"We will both demonstrate," Professor Snape said, "Though I daresay only one of us will teach you anything."

He made one of his dramatic Snape exits, the same one Calista often imitated. When he did it, it left a chill in his wake and always gave me the vague impression that I'd done something wrong; when Calista did it, I had to bite my lip to keep from chuckling. She certainly seemed to think she was every inch as imposing as he was, but Calista had a different sort of strength, a different sort of presence, than her father did. You might conceivably believe that Professor Snape was sweeping away to fetch a bottle of something sinister to poison you with, but if Calista had any intentions on your life, I'd bet my most pristine first-edition Lovenworth you'd find out swiftly and straight from her lips, not hours later by an acrid taste in the back of your throat.

I suppose what I was trying to say, in an admittedly roundabout fashion, is that Calista trying to impersonate her father was almost indescribably amusing, not that I or any other sane person would ever _dream_ of telling her so. After all, I certainly wasn't saying that she couldn't be intimidating, when she wanted to be; only that she was a different _sort_ of intimidating than she liked to pretend to be. It wasn't her temper _or_ her exceedingly exaggerated reputation that intimidated _me_ , for example. One only had to glance at her research notes, or watch her reason her way into the common room of a House she hadn't even been Sorted into, to realise that she was staggeringly intelligent. Or, at least, it had made _me_ stagger when I'd seen her solve a riddle in under a minute that I'd been struggling with for the better part of an afternoon.

I watched her flit to the far end of a long, raised golden stage that had been erected in the centre of the room, choosing a spot near the front of the crowd where she had a clear view of her father, and then I caught Rob's eye and ushered him, as well as two of our other roommates, Nate and Lucas, to the empty space beside them.

The spot did have an excellent view of the stage, which I promptly forgot as soon as I got near it, because it turned out that spot had an excellent view of something — or rather some _one_ — decidedly less pleasant.

"Flint," I muttered, quietly, matching his baleful look with one of my own; he and I had disliked each other from the first instant we'd met, and the fact that until this past Halloween he'd been dating Calista had not caused my feelings towards him to soften in the slightest.

It wasn't that I particularly cared who my friends dated, of course; I just didn't appreciate the way he'd misrepresented me to her, or the way he'd constantly turn up in the library — the one place I was supposed to be utterly free of him — looking for her; nor did I appreciate having to keep my most biting comebacks to his moronic taunting to myself, and I was nearly certain Calista wouldn't have insisted that I did, were it not for their relationship.

As soon as I'd started to get to know Calista, I'd known her and Flint wouldn't last, though they certainly made it longer than I think I'd ever have guessed. I'd never believed in the theory that opposites attract, but if anything were to give it merit, it would be a pairing as unlikely as _Calista_ and the scourge that was Marcus Flint.

"Gerald?" I felt a brief, light sensation on the back of my hand, a hummingbird come to light.

It was unusual enough to hear my proper first name that I instinctively turned my head. I usually told people to call me Gerry, since that's what Mum and my younger brother, Terry, called me, and even though I was certain I'd introduced myself to her that way as well, Calista had always called me Gerald, and I had never corrected her.

"Ignore him, please," Calista whispered, the tip of her finger still just grazing the skin on the back of my hand. "He won't — he'd better not — start anything."

The extremely unoriginal hand gesture he flicked my way belied that, but I cared a lot more what Calista thought of me than what Flint did, so I did my best to heed her advice, and look beyond Flint towards the stage, though I knew my profile had to betray the tension I still felt, to a careful observer.

"Gather round, gather round," Lockhart — I couldn't quite bring himself to think of the man as _Professor Lockhart_ — was saying, "Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me?"

"Unfortunately," Calista muttered beside me, and I bit back a grin of amusement, forgetting about Flint almost instantly.

I wasn't the only one to find humour in Lockhart's inane antics, either. When he introduced Professor Snape as his assistant, Calista's lips only betrayed a small smirk, but I saw her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

I was polite enough to — only just — refrain from following suit when Professor Snape immediately bested Lockhart, though I did nothing to quiet the audible cheers of the Slytherins around him, as Lockhart continued to step into verbal pitfall after pitfall of his own making.

Eventually, he realised his folly and hastily changed tacks, practically racing off the stage to begin pairing students off for a round of practice.

I felt a brief chill on the back of my right hand, and looked over to see that Calista's hand was no longer hovering beside mine, as she turned her back to me, saying something to Amelia. I kept my eye on her, to see who she'd decide to partner with for dueling practice, but presently I became aware of another chill to my left, as Lockhart slipped into the space between myself and Rob.

"Mr. Boot," Lockhart said brightly, as if he hadn't been only moments away from being turned into a platter of lunch meats, "Why don't you partner Mr. Flint…"

The remainder of Lockhart's speech was quickly overshadowed by the sudden rushing of blood through my ears. In an instant, I had ascertained three poignant facts:

Firstly, that I was about to duel Flint at the _sanction_ of the school; secondly, that my fingers had already found their way, steadily and securely, to the grip of my wand; and thirdly, that Calista was watching.

" — don't think that's a good —" Calista's voice broke through the rushing in my eardrums, and I pressed my mouth into a thin, hard line. I wanted to ask her if she didn't like the idea of my dueling Flint because she thought I wouldn't win, or because she thought I would, but of course that was a ridiculous reaction, and I was snapped out of it by Lockhart's voice across booming the Hall as he clambered back up to the stage:

"Face your partners!" he instructed us, "And bow!"

I most certainly would not take my eyes of Flint — I didn't trust him not to cheat — but the rules of civilised dueling were quite clear; you must show your partner a signal of respect before you can utter a single incantation.

I nodded my head, briefly and insincerely; it was hardly indicative of any semblance of respect, but since Flint had done nothing but glower, I could still claim the upper hand. I flicked my gaze to my right, just long enough to ascertain that Calista was still watching, and that her hand had gone to the pocket where I'd seen her stow her wand, earlier. I wondered whose defence she was prepared to leap to, and was surprised by the depth with which I suddenly wished for it to be me.

"When I count to three," Lockhart was shouting, "Cast your charms to Disarm your opponent —"

Once again, I ceased to hear Lockhart's instruction, but this time it was not because of something I heard, but something I saw: Flint's eyes narrowing, his shoulder beginning to pull back, lifting his wand in the beginning of a knockback curse.

" _Protego!_ " I incanted swiftly, hardly hearing Flint mispronounce his own cast before it was deflected squarely back at him.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " I followed up immediately, perfectly accounting for the awkward arc of Flint's fall as I aimed my wand hand towards his; the wand flew from his hand and despite possessing precisely nothing in the way of athleticism, I managed to catch it. I thought I even managed to make it look smooth, or at least, I hoped I had.

I'd hardly finished mentally congratulating myself when I caught a blur of motion, and then my face was smashed against a brick wall.

 _Not a brick wall_ , was the first intelligent thing I could come up with, as my vision swam back into full color from the sudden, albeit brief, blackness. _A Flint wall._

Several things slammed into my consciousness at once; the sudden burst of pain that was sprouting up from the part of my face that had just become intimately acquainted with Flint's beefy fist, the sudden hot spurt of blood from my nose, and the sudden horrific realisation that Calista was still watching.

I didn't have time to ruminate on why the third, and seemingly least damaging, of those particular facts was the most painful by an immeasurable degree; I only had time to wince, reflexively, and hope that I didn't get a shard of glass in my eye from my glasses, the next time Flint's fist connected with my face.

" _Immobulus!_ " I heard someone yell, and I opened my eyes; it was Calista, of course, and once I realised that I didn't even need to look at Flint to know that he was subdued. I knew the spell would work, even though it wasn't meant to, on humans. I also knew that the spell wasn't meant to do half of the things it seemed to, when she cast it.

"Gerald, are you all right?" I busied myself with loosening my robes from Flint's grip, wondering why in Merlin's name I would be feeling _that_ all of a sudden, the instant that Calista entered my personal space; it was the most absurdly and inappropriately timed thing my body could possibly do to me, including the blood I could still feel streaming from my nose, and for a moment I was positive I was delirious and was about to faint, because I could have _sworn_ that I smelled the same thing I'd imagined earlier: the fresh, earthy tang of sprouting fluxweed, mixed with the crispness of a turned page. I had to admit, the scent was slightly less intoxicating when it was battling the coppery smell of my own blood. "I'm sorry I wasn't faster. I didn't think he would —"

" _Finite Incantatum!"_ someone roared, and time sped up again. Flint lurched forward, and I started to lift my wand, but as it turned out, I needn't have bothered.

Calista leapt into the narrow space between myself and Flint's oncoming bulk. _Colibri_ , I thought, as soon as I had arrived at the conclusion that it really _was_ her, that I hadn't fired off one last Shield Charm an instant before blood loss caused me to lose consciousness.

" _You will leave my friend alone,_ " Calista hissed, pointing her wand squarely between Flint's eyes, "Or I will _make_ you — and next time, it won't be a Freezing Charm."

Under any other circumstance, I would have delighted to see Flint cower before Calista, the way he did; but under this _particular_ circumstance, I could only feel the way that my heart was beating _faster_ , now that the danger had passed; and that damned, delicious scent wasn't fading, any more than my own vision was.

"Yes," Calista was driving Marcus back half a step with each syllable she spoke, "I see you recall what I'm capable of — don't _ever_ touch him again, or I'll remind you. Oh — and consider my offer to be friends officially rescinded."

As I watched Flint retreat from Calista's glare, I realised Lockhart was back. He said something to me; I honestly had no recollection, later, what it had been. I was only aware of what happened _next_ :

I lifted my sleeve, trying simultaneously to clear my nose — I'd suddenly realised I was short of breath, undoubtedly due to the steady stream of blood Flint had coaxed from my nose — and to ascertain the extent of the damage, and then Calista was standing directly in front of me, close enough for me to feel her breath flutter against my cheek.

"Ah," she said softly, lips narrowed and black eyes widened with concern, "Definitely _don't_ pinch it. I think it's broken."

 _Pinch it?_ Was that what Lockhart had been telling me to do?

Suddenly, out of the corner of my vision, I could see the tip of a wand; I flinched, involuntarily, a fraction of an instant before I realised it was only Calista's.

She lowered her wand, and then I felt a light, reassuring touch on my shoulder.

"I can fix it," Calista offered, "Is it all right for me to do that?"

"Yeah," I stammered, hating the strange, stuffy sound my voice was making, "Dat's —"

I gave up on words, and just nodded my consent.

She lifted her hand from my shoulder, and carefully lifted my glasses off; I noted with a detached sort of relief that they did not appear to be broken; I was far more present in the realisation that Calista was bringing her wand slowly to my nose.

" _Episkey_ ," she murmured, and the pain immediately subsided, as the bone mended itself. She examined her work, and held my glasses out to me. I elected to pretend I didn't understand why her nod of approval felt like it might mean a whole lot more than just that she'd successfully healed my nose.

I wriggled my nose, and reached up to touch it, gingerly; it felt perfectly normal, save for the fact that it was unpleasantly sticky.

"Thanks," I said, and my voice sounded more or less normal, aside from a slight tremor that I dearly hoped Calista didn't detect.

Her eyes didn't leave my face, and I found mine inexplicably and uncontrollably drawn to her, as well. I felt my breath catch in my throat, as her hand came up, and I felt the soft fabric of her sleeve against my cheek.

"You don't have to," I fairly croaked, "I mean — I can manage."

She ignored me. I felt her finger graze my cheek, and my body betrayed me again, just as I came to the answer to a particular riddle I'd been wrestling with for much longer than any the Ravenclaw door knocker could throw at me.

The soft cloud of dark hair; the intriguing gaze; I'd always held those two clues, but now, the rest of them came into focus, and I felt as if he'd been doing my Astronomy homework with the star charts upside down, as if an incredibly stupid oversight had just been corrected, and I could finally see what had been in front of me for ages:

There _was_ a girl I fancied, and it was Calista Snape. It always had been, but I'd stubbornly turned away from it, just as I'd once failed to believe in the strength of a tiny, fragile-looking rune.

 _Colibri_ , I thought, and for a moment, I think I honestly believed that she was going to kiss me, she was that close to me, as she frowned and brushed her sleeve, and occasionally her fingers, over the tacky remnants of blood on my face.

She didn't, of course; I'm not certain that I would have known what to do if she had. I searched her face eagerly for any sign that she might have been afflicted by the same mysterious syndrome that had suddenly overtaken me; but the beat of her pulse as it moved at her throat was gentle, and where I vainly hoped to see — I didn't know what, precisely — in her expression, all I saw was a mix of concern and mild consternation.

I took a deep breath, and despite the lingering scent of fluxweed and new books that I now realised was _Calista_ , had always been _Calista_ , I realised that I had to get my suddenly wild emotions under control, or I'd betray my newly discovered feelings before I even had a chance to properly process them.

I concentrated on shifting my as-yet-unrequited feelings to the back of my mind, lifting a curtain around them, ensuring they would not show in my eyes. I felt the heat leave my face, and then I realised that while my face was more or less clean, Calista's sleeve no longer was.

"Your robes," I said, "They're ruined. I'm sorry."

She glanced at the stained and ragged cuff of her sleeve, and made a half-hearted attempt to roll it back.

"Who cares? I don't even really like these ones, and my aunt will just buy me new ones for Christmas, anyway. Are you all right?"

I nodded, and managed to say something almost intelligible about what had happened.

"Well," Calista said, solidly and reassuringly, "He'll leave you alone, now."

"Yeah," I shook my head, as if _that_ , of all things, would help me process everything that had happened that evening. I was certain of one thing, though; Calista had just seen to the truth of that, and I told her as much.

"I guess Percy was right," I said, recounting a conversation we'd had a few times over the years, "You can be pretty fierce."

Actually, I'd known that long before Percy had told me, but I was afraid that it meant there was something wrong with me that I actually found that particular quality wildly attractive in girls —

 _Oh, all right. In Calista. Especially when it's to benefit me._ I wondered if I was being foolish in hoping that her well-meaning ferocity on my behalf was a sign of something I wasn't quite ready to hope for, yet.

"Well," Calista said, and years from then, I would look back on that moment as the one in which I had firmly crossed a line I hadn't even realised I'd drawn. "I'm only fierce when I need to be. Only for… only for people I care about."

Her cheeks flushed, beautifully setting off the depths of her eyes, and I met her gaze, and I fell for her, instantly and utterly; or rather, I finally admitted to myself that I had done so long ago.

She looked away, and in a moment, she was speaking with Amelia. I had absolutely no notion of what was happening on the stage; I didn't care. I waited until she and Amelia were finished, and then I sidled closer to Calista.

I had always felt a good deal bolder following the use of Occlumancy to guard my mind; it was probably because I tended to be shifting memories and thoughts that made me uncertain or afraid to the back of my mind. At any rate, I suddenly felt bold enough to try a brief, and tantalising experiment.

I leaned close to Calista; I touched the back of her hand gently, as she had done to mine earlier.

"By the way," I said quietly, into the softness of her hair, right where I supposed her ear was, "That was without a doubt the most impressive Freezing Charm I've ever seen."

She looked at me again, and her face lit up in a spectacular grin; I didn't think, in that moment, that I could possible be any more pleased, until she asked me to teach her how I managed to use my Shield Charm so accurately.

 _I_ nearly grinned then — maybe I did — because I had now added two important articles of information to my body of research for the situation I'd found myself in, the moment I realised I was hopelessly attracted to Calista Snape.

Firstly, Calista found something I could do impressive, and she _wanted_ to spend time with me because of it.

Secondly, I now had the prospect of spending dozens of hours with her. I have never been too humble to acknowledge that casting a Shield Charm at the level of accuracy that I can is no easy feat. Even Calista would surely take many dozens of hours to perfect it, and that meant that there were dozens of hours I now had an excuse to spend with her…

They were hours that I fully intended to put to diligent use. I would observe, and I would study, and if I collected enough information, I should be able to ascertain whether Calista might find _me_ attractive, in return.

And then, of course, when I had sufficient evidence to support my theory that she might, I could test it by confessing to her.

 _There_ , I thought, pleased with my strategy, _It's just as I insisted to Rob; my interest in coming here tonight was purely academic._


End file.
